


Coran and the Girdle of Femininity

by Zhenta



Series: Freya and Coran [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, general vulgarity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhenta/pseuds/Zhenta
Summary: BGEE: When Coran puts on an enchanted belt, his Bhaalspawn companion starts looking at him in a different light. Safana is not impressed.





	1. Prelude

Coran bit his teeth together, eyes screwed shut and back propped up against the pillows. It was the second-best room the inn had to offer with silk bedsheets and ornate oak furniture. The room two doors down was better though, because it had Safana and Freya in it. His hand tightened over himself as he stroked back and forth picturing thief and Bhaalspawn sharing a bed.

Of course it wasn't really happening, despite Freya's best efforts. Safana liked men and that was all there was to it, but Coran was not the type of guy to let reality stand in the way of a perfectly good fantasy. He pictured blonde and brunette pressing their lips over each other, Safana running her delicate fingers over Freya's breasts.

His hand sped up, a frown-line forming as he imagined the thief smacking her friend's arse, which like her chest, was ridiculously large in proportion to the rest of her. It was almost impossible not to stare, and in truth Coran had not really been trying. She wouldn't judge. She looked that way herself at almost every woman she met and, failing that, at her own reflection. His hair flopped over his face, and he groaned quietly. He was so close now, just a few more strokes and-

"Having fun, are we?" cut in an amused voice.

Coran pulled the bedsheets up so violently that he toppled out of the bed and landed painfully on the hardwood floor. Safana stepped out of his wardrobe, wearing a superior smirk, hand resting gently on her hip.

"Safana what the hell?" he cried, livid. He was so shocked that for a moment he dropped his cocky persona. She widened her eyes in mock innocence and put her hand to her chest.

"I am _so_ sorry," she said, but she did not look remotely apologetic. "Here I was taking… taking an _inventory_ … of our loot from the last battle…"

"Stealing my share of it you mean," growled Coran.

"You wound me," she fluttered her eyelashes innocently. Her hand slipped over the bedpost and began running up and down it. Immediately his mind turned to her doing the same to him and his cock strained under the blanket. "Then you come barging in without warning and I had to hide in case you got the wrong idea. Suddenly I start hearing all sorts of strange noises. I needed to check you were alright, I thought maybe you were being attacked."

"That's ok, I had my weapon ready," he replied, recovering himself.

"It's the biggest sword I've seen in a while," she purred, her eyes twinkling.

"Um… I think it just got bigger," Coran admitted.

She sat down on the edge of his bed and began casually pulling off her boots. Still unsure whether this was serious or an elaborate piss-take, he clambered back up. Safana dropped the boots with a thud and turned to look at him appraisingly. Apparently despite having a spare chin and a somewhat paunchy midriff, the elf was passable physically because she edged a little closer to him.

"Want to have some fun?" she suggested playfully.

Coran had already been having quite a lot of fun even before she stepped out of the wardrobe, but he was enjoying this more. Before he could formulate a more articulate response than a nervous nod, Safana bent her head down and ran her tongue over his length. His entire body stiffened as the shock of pleasure hit him.

Safana looked up at him, pleased with the response. Much to his delight, she kicked off her leathers and pulled her tunic over her head. There were no corsets or underwiring required here. Her sleek brown hair toppled over her shoulders, gracefully framing her breasts. He reached forward and cupped one, brushing his thumb over her, eliciting a small gasp.

Taking advantage of her distraction, he pulled her on top of him, kissing her shoulders and neck hungrily. She grabbed his chin and thrust his head up roughly so she could press their lips together. Coran tried to kiss slowly but tenderness was not on Safana's radar this evening. She pulled away and bit his ear. Hard.

"Argh! What was that for?" he yelled aggressively, flipping her over instinctively and pinning her down to prevent her from doing it again. Her eyes flashed wickedly. She grinned and snapped her teeth at him, but he was too strong for her to break free and bite him again. "You are the craziest woman I have ever met!"

This was saying something since he travelled with Freya, but sane or not rubbing himself against her thigh felt incredible. He looked down at her and the way her breasts were moving with the rhythm of his thrusts and moaned. He let go of her hands and immediately she reached up and scratched him down both arms.

"Owww!" he screamed, forgetting for a moment that there were other patrons in this inn. She laughed delightedly. "Hang on, hang on," he panted, sitting up. "No, no, no do _not_ start with the claws again. What is happening here? Do- do you want to have sex or scar me?"

"I won't scar you," Safana pouted, "I just like it when you wrestle me that's all. I like strong men." She bent her head down toward his member which was throbbing unbearably.

Coran screwed up his eyes once more, as much with fear as pleasure. He was not at all sure he trusted her not to start with the biting again, but he felt too good to stop. She slipped her lips around him and moved them along his length over and over, tracing patterns with her tongue as she did. Suddenly she sat up, removing her mouth and he thrust against empty air with an agonized cry.

Safana moved onto all fours and flicked her head back with a smile. Coran lost all self-control. He had known a great many women but never one as confident as this. In seconds he had mounted himself over her and thrust in as hard as he could. Now it was her time to cry out.

"Oh fuck yes, hard as you can I can take it," she cried. The elf did not need telling twice. He tried to hold back a little though, wanting to satisfy her but knowing he could not last much longer. He had been near spent before they had even started.

She clenched around him, intensifying his pleasure at random intervals so he never knew when it was coming. He should slow down, stroke her and make her come too but he was too far gone for that. With a final thrust he spilled into her, with less control than he had ever felt in his life. He pulled out quickly and fell back, utterly exhausted and gasping for breath.

If Safana was disappointed with the speed at which he had finished, she didn't show it. On the contrary she looked very pleased with herself. She lay down next to him and traced her fingers over his heaving chest. Coran closed his eyes, and as he fell into a deep sleep, he thought he heard her speaking, more to herself than to him.

"When I'm good I'm really good. But when I'm bad… I'm better."


	2. A Bard Bargain

"A woman as stunning as you shouldn't be drinking alone."

"Bugger off Coran, there's a lad," Freya sighed, staring despondently at her ale. Her chin rested on her folded arms. Around her, her hair flopped pathetically giving the impression that she'd spilled liquid gold over the table. Her eyes were sadder than a kicked puppy. Coran had never seen her so forlorn.

It had been snowing in the streets of Baldur's Gate, covering the usual swamp of dried sewage and horse manure in a thick layer of pure snow. There hadn't been time yet for the merchants to break out their shovels or the endless queue of carts and boots to trample it into sludge. Outside kids were yelling excitedly and inside the atmosphere was merry with a steady flow of sweet wine and mead. Safana was out there somewhere too, spending the party's gold as usual.

A snowball smacked the window next to Freya's head making the werewolf jump. Coran took a large gulp of ale. This new travelling companion was working out well. He provided the brains, she provided the muscle and _damn_ what a lot of muscle. All he'd wanted her to do was scavenge a wyvern skull that they could pretend was a dragon in order to scam a bounty. This mad dog had been up for taking on an actual dragon. Yup, that was Freya. Strong in the arm but weak in the brain. Or at least the part of the brain responsible for basic common sense. That's what she needed him for.

There was, however, an issue that he felt needed to be addressed. Ever since he had first tried flirting with Freya there had been a certain amount of tension… these past few days, since he and Safana had made their relationship public, it had reached the point where you could cut the air between them with a knife.

"What's up?" he asked, plonking himself down in front of her.

"Ever been in love Coran?" she asked, dismally.

"At least twice this week!" he replied happily. "Why?"

"No, I mean really in love?" she said. The werewolf had not taken her eyes off the ale. Oh dear. This was serious then.

"I… once," admitted Coran, reluctantly. "It didn't end well. Why do you ask?"

"My sister is in love," she mused vaguely, swilling her beer around in the mug but apparently too depressed to drink it. "I think." There was a long pause. "I'll never be in love."

"What makes you think that?" asked Coran, though in truth he suspected he knew exactly why. By unspoken agreement the group did not mention Freya's sapphic tendencies, but it was glaringly obvious. He was aware of the existence, in some cities, of bars which might offer his friend the opportunity to meet someone. You didn't get around as much as he did without hearing a few things, but he was not yet familiar enough with Baldur's Gate to know where to point her.

True that the life of an adventurer, perpetually on the road, made things more difficult. Add to that the way people felt about werewolves in general and Bhaalspawn specifically and undeniably her odds of meeting 'the one' were not great. On the other hand she could not be much more than twenty and 'never' was a long time. Perhaps she just needed some help.

Besides a woman who looked like her should not be perpetually single. It was, frankly, a criminal waste. She looked the way he'd liked to sketch women as a teenage boy, with a pinched waist, a ridiculously large chest and an arse you could use as a mobile library. Her long blonde hair framed a stunningly pretty face with sharp grey eyes that gave the impression of intelligence. It was, he had learned from experience, a false impression, but enough to convince people who hadn't known her very long. It was no exaggeration to call her the most beautiful woman he had ever met, which was saying something because he had known a lot of women. However, she was also human (more or less), and her looks would not last long. She, and her potential partners, had to make hay while the sun shone. An affront to the gods and nature if she remained celibate any longer! He had to say something.

"So tell me Freya, did Gorion know you fancy women?" he asked, with all the subtlety of a granite brick. Freya spat out her beer.

"What?" she choked weakly.

"Ah come on," he grinned. "Even if I hadn't spotted you testing the water with Safana, it's pretty obvious. If a man comes and talks to you, you swagger about like a peacock. But every time that redhead barmaid asks what you want to drink you mumble into your cup and she can't even hear you."

"Oh gods," muttered Freya, "You don't think she knows…?"

"Er, honestly Frey?" said Coran cheerfully, "When we first met, I thought you were flirting with every man you came across and _hated_ women. That's probably how she sees you too. Took me a good long while to figure out that the only reason you're so confident with men is because you don't give a rat's arse what we think."

"You're not… bothered?" the blonde warrior asked tentatively.

"Nah," said Coran. He dropped his voice conspiratorially. "To tell you the truth Freya, I have a confession to make. _I'm not attracted to men either!_ "

Freya threw back her golden head and let out a great bark of laughter. A few of the other patrons looked around at her. Some of them did not stop looking. Freya had that effect on people. Her charisma was so elevated that her presence dominated the room like the sun ruled the sky. An old man raised his tankard to Coran and saluted him with the other hand jovially. The elf ignored him and tipped his own glass, watching the amber liquid sloshing inside.

"So did Gorion know?" asked Coran.

"Yeah he did, one of the monks dobbed me in," Freya grinned. She shook her head. "See I had a lot of therapy to help me control my transformations. The idea was to stop me going nuts and eating everyone at full moon you know? The monks thought it was important that I tell them everything, and like a dumbass I did. So they tell him, all pompous-like and he goes ballistic, but not at me. He booted her and her snooty mate right out of Candlekeep! Literally threw their clothes after them over the battlements. I wish you could have met my Dad, gods I miss him. He was a great man."

She looked vaguely out of the window at the falling snow, glad that they were here with the warmth of the fire and not camping tonight. The city houses looked like a painting, so pretty with their twinkling white rooftops. Freya took a great gulp of beer and licked the bitter foam from her lips delicately. It was a relief that the thief had brought it up. She decided to elaborate a little, so that he'd understand why she hadn't mentioned her preferences sooner.

"To be honest Coran, it really smarted," she admitted. "Those two monks practically raised me along with Dad. I tried to hide how bummed-out I was from him, but he could tell." She put down the ale with a dull thud. "He was so angry. Called them worthless fools and a few other things I won't repeat. Said he'd make damn sure I'd never have to worry about what idiots like that thought again, and he did."

"How?" asked Coran.

"He made some secret visits to the library at night and raided the Candlekeep catacombs," Freya said conspiratorially. "Snuck as many magical tomes as he could find upstairs, two or three at a time and had me read them in the night. Then in the early hours he'd collect them, drained and useless, and put them back."

"That's why you're so freakish strong!" Coran laughed. "Nice."

"Yeah, but it was the Charisma books he had me read first," she grinned, "If you're good looking and likeable enough you can get away with anything else, even being a gay lycanthropic Bhaalspawn."

"And nobody noticed?"

"The other Harpers guessed in the end and Dad couldn't bring himself to lie to Elminster," said Freya, "They were proper angry. Said Dad was giving one of the Bhaalspawn a big advantage over all the others. He wasn't having any of it though. Told the nosey old git that I was at such a disadvantage to start with that he was _restoring_ the balance not disturbing it."

Coran frowned a little at this. Gorion had obviously meant well but he couldn't help wondering whether the old man might have done better to build up Freya's confidence to face the world as herself, rather than magically altering her. It was too late now though. Magical tomes were permanent, Gorion was dead, and his daughter would always carry the knowledge that her father didn't believe she could hack it as herself.

There was nothing he could do about that, but perhaps he could help her out of her current predicament. After all, nobody should have to go through life without love!

"See that man over there with the two brunettes," he whispered.

"The bard?"

"Yeah," Coran grinned. "He's a real slime ball. He came in with the younger one hanging on his arm, plonked her down and ignored her all evening so he could flirt with the older one."

"So?" Freya shrugged.

"So there are two women and two of us," his eyes flashed wickedly. "What say you and me go steal both of his dates?"

"What? No! Coran what are you…?" but it was too late. The elf was on his feet and striding over to their table confidently, half-dragging the werewolf with him. The bard saw them coming and sent the older woman to the bar with a dismissive wave of his hand. She fixed him with a dagger-like glare, but obeyed nonetheless.

As she passed, the werewolf spotted the insignia of the Flaming Fist on her breastplate. Freya shot her a friendly smile and semi-saluted with her tankard. She liked the Flaming Fist. The last soldier she had dealt with, a woman named Officer Jessa Vai, had paid her a small fortune just for gathering up the scalps of bandits she'd been planning to kill anyway! This soldier was scowling at her, but that might have more to do with her unceremonious dismissal by her companions. Before she could say anything, Coran yanked her arm and she turned her attention reluctantly to the slippery bard and his girl.

"Good evening Sir," the bard began agreeably. Something about his oily manner and small, reptilian eyes made Freya bristle. "Might I interest you in a proposition?"

"Nope," said Freya automatically. She received propositions about nine times a day and turning them down had become a reflex.

"I was speaking to your man not you," the bard sneered dismissively. "My name is Eldoth, this is Skie Silvershield. Alas, we are in the grip of a tragic dilemma. We are hopelessly in love, but Skie's father will not allow us to be together without a chaperone. Unfortunately her father is a Grand Duke so he's rather well placed to enforce that. Lieutenant Corwin here won't leave us alone and much though I… appreciate such attractive company… It is hard for Skie and I to enjoy quality time."

Freya wasn't listening. Her eyes had wandered from Eldoth to Skie's and suddenly his words held as much meaning as the buzzing of flies. She was clearly nobility, dressed in a silk tunic with her dark hair braided into a fancy bun by one of the maids. Her blue-grey eyes twinkled with mischief in her pretty face, but what captivated Freya was how she moved. She was so agile, that she made even the simple motion of taking a sip from her wine look like a dance.

"What do you think?" she asked Freya eagerly, in a voice like crushed tinsel.

"What do I think to what?" Freya asked stupidly. Coran sighed inwardly. His new apprentice was going to need a lot of help. Beauty alone could not do all the legwork.

"Corwin has only been working for Daddy for a few days, he doesn't even remember her name yet," Skie whispered excitedly. "The plan is we slip this potion into her ale, she goes to sleep and we put her in one of the rooms upstairs. Then we can do whatever we like. At the end of the evening you put on her uniform, march me to the Ducal palace and tell them what a good girl I've been."

"What's to stop this Corwin telling them everything when she wakes up?" said Coran doubtfully.

"And what's in it for us?" asked Freya. She assumed that 'do whatever we like,' meant have sex with Eldoth, and she was not minded to facilitate Skie doing that. Not unless there was a significant sum of gold in the offing.

"Corwin won't want to admit she got drunk on duty and fell asleep," said Eldoth. "And I'll tell you what's in it for you; a free pass into the Ducal Palace! Just walk in as Corwin, grab all the fancy jewellery you can stuff down your breastplate and meet me outside. We'll split it 50/50!"

"Hang on, I thought this was about true love?" growled Freya suspiciously.

"Oh well, of course. That too," smirked Eldoth, unabashed.

Freya stepped forward with the intention of shoving the bard's flute so far up a certain orifice that in future he would only be able to play it by eating beans, but Coran put a restraining hand on her arm.

"There's a lot of gems in the Ducal Palace," he muttered in her ear. Then he said to Eldoth, "We're in!"

"Excellent!" cried Eldoth, rubbing his hands together. "Let's toast to our arrangement. Corwin! HEY CORWIN!"

The Flaming Fist officer turned around at the bar, her eyes flashing impatiently. Freya wondered with a temper like that if she was really cut out for the army. Eldoth rudely ordered Corwin to bring them drinks and the guard sat in stony silence, draining glass after glass, while the bard played his instruments badly.

Finally Corwin began to sway and they manoeuvred her discretely upstairs into the private room where Safana had dumped her belongings while she went on another round of shopping. Eldoth stood guard outside while, with Skie's assistance, they removed Corwin's outer-clothes. Freya handed her armour to Coran and dressed hastily. She paused for a moment to admire herself in the mirror. Hot damn, she looked good in uniform. Of course she'd also look good in a potato sack.

"What do you reckon?" she winked at Skie, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow and striking a sexy pose unnecessarily. It was lost on the noblewoman.

What was not lost on her though, was that the one downside of Freya's charisma was that it made her extremely difficult to disguise. Great locks of hair were escaping from the helmet like sunbeams. Her grey eyes, bright stainless smile and sculpted cheekbones were easily visible under it. Add to that the fact that Corwin's breastplate was not wide enough to contain an individual of Freya's proportions and there was no way they were going anywhere without attracting attention.

"Oh," sighed Skie, disappointed. "This isn't going to work. You don't look anything like her."

"You are a dumb bimbo Skie!" groaned Eldoth. "I didn't mean _her._ She doesn't look anything like Corwin. Now you, on the other hand… right height, same build, close enough hair under the helmet if we comb it over a bit. That'll hide the elf ears too."

"It won't hide the fact that I'm the wrong gender," said Coran dryly.

"Not a problem!" cried Eldoth triumphantly, brandishing a belt. "Behold: The Girdle of Femininity."

"No!" yelped Coran. "Absolutely not!"

"Oh come on, it's only for a day and think of all that treasure," wheedled Freya. "Just imagine walking in to the Ducal Palace and helping yourself to whatever you like! Think how pleased Safana will be with you when you bring us our share. How about that?"

"Well…" said Coran, lust and greed eclipsing common-sense, "Alright then. Just for a day."


	3. The Music of Love

The two friends sat in awkward silence at the foot of the bed. Or at least they were not speaking. The room was, in fact, quite noisy. First there was Lieutenant Corwin's snoring. They had bundled her into a corner of the room in her undergarments and stripped the duvet off of the bed to cover her. Louder than that was the rhythmic thumping of the bed in the adjoining room slamming their wall. Even worse was…

"…say it again!"

"Oh Eldoth, you're a stallion!"

Freya and Coran stared forward resolutely at the mirror on the dressing table in front of them, trying not to catch each other's eyes. The slamming of wood on the wall sent a sad little trickle of plaster dust floating down from the poorly constructed ceiling. Even the spiders were scuttling away in disgust.

"However much gold we make from this, it isn't enough," said Freya in a hollow voice. She flopped down on the bed and swung her long legs up on to the dresser.

"Agreed," sighed Coran, his hands folded mournfully over his crotch.

He had put on the belt to transform himself into a woman and was wearing Corwin's Flaming Fist uniform. It suited him, though it was a little tight around the chest. Freya eyed it in the mirror, her mind drifting back to Beregost and Officer Jessa Vai.

Jessa had short cropped hair and a brusque demeanour and was, frankly, a good deal too masculine for Freya's personal taste. The flip side of this, of course, was that it was an effective advertisement as to where her interests lay. The werewolf had not been much attracted to her but with a limited pool of potential mates to choose from, the officer was an improvement on her own right hand. Her uniform, now that was another matter. Anyone could look sexy in that uniform. Even Coran.

She risked another sideways glance. Especially Coran. Fortunately given the circumstances, it was impossible for her to be turned on right now, by him or anything else in Faerun. At that moment Eldoth began making a series of squealing noises.

"Selune, I have offended you in many ways, but surely even I don't deserve this," Freya groaned under her breath.

"Are they making love in there or slaughtering a pig?" winced Coran.

The noise grew louder, the thumping more frantic, and just as Freya was on the edge of suggesting that they give up on this whole venture and run, there was a final high-pitched scream and the noise mercifully ceased.

"Thank the gods that's over," sighed Coran but he spoke too soon.

"Oh Eldoth! That was beautiful!" cried Skie. That remark was the straw that broke the camel's back. Coran bent over, choking with silent laughter that they must not let their new employers hear. The elf's laughter was contagious and soon Freya found herself propped up on one elbow, having to shove her fist into her mouth to keep her mirth inaudible.

Coran sat up finally, flicking back his half-cropped hair. He had a truly stunning smile, and Freya wondered why she had never noticed it before. The girdle, surely, had not altered his teeth.

"It's not that funny though. Skie could do a lot better," sighed Freya. Coran looked at her sideways.

"Careful there, mate," he warned, "She's in love with Eldoth."

"Yeah but a decent pair of gnomish glasses would cure that," Freya replied. The elf grinned and shook his head.

"We mustn't let our loneliness make us desperate," he told her wisely.

"Dunno why you're complaining about being lonely, you've got Safana," Freya grumbled.

"Be careful what you wish for, that's all I have to say about that!" muttered Coran. He rubbed ruefully at a deep bite mark on his shoulder. "Oh no, speak of the devil."

The door swung open and Safana sauntered in, depositing two large bags on the floor by the bed, and surveying the scene with an amused expression.

"Please, for the sake of my sanity, tell me those noises I was hearing just now weren't coming from you?" she declared, very loudly. The shuffling and mumbled conversation from the room next door ceased abruptly. Coran facepalmed. Thanks to Safana's indiscretion all their self-restraint had been for nothing. Safana, however, did not recognise him immediately.

"Yet another Flaming Fist officer in your bedroom Freya?" she laughed. "This is getting to be a habit! Got a bit of a thing for uniforms, have we? Hmmm?"

"First off, hell yeah," said Freya unapologetically, swinging her legs from the dresser and sending a pot of Safana's expensive face powder crashing to the floor. The thief scowled but the werewolf didn't notice and she plonked her boot in it, making costly pink footprints on the floor. "And second, Safana, let me introduce you to... Corana!"

Safana stared at Coran in horror. Then she looked from him to Corwin, unconscious and bundled in a blanket on the floor.

"What in the nine hells did you two do?" she screeched.

"Relax it's just for a day," Coran soothed her. He lifted his tunic. "See it's only a girdle."

"He's going to pose as this rich girl's bodyguard," explained Freya. "She gets to make inhuman noises with her boyfriend Eldoth and we get to go on a looting spree in the Ducal Palace. Everyone's a winner!"

"You're not you idiot!" Safana bellowed at Coran. "Those girdles are designed for people who want to change sex permanently! They don't come off!"

Coran's newly plumped lips formed a wide 'O' of horror. He tried to unfasten the garment, but Safana was right, it was stuck tight by magic. Seconds later Coran had his dagger out and was attempting, unsuccessfully to slice the belt loose.

"Well I don't know whether this Eldoth succeeded in screwing her," Safana remarked acidly, "But he's definitely screwed you."

Coran dropped his dagger, sat down on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands and howled.

"Little Coran!" he sobbed. "He's gone!"

The door opened once more and Eldoth slipped into the room, oozing self-satisfaction. He gave them a greasy smirk, and they noticed that he had not bothered to refasten his breeches before coming in.

"Ah yes, about that," he sneered. "This belt is actually one of Skie's family heirlooms. It belonged to the late Grand Duchess Maire Silvershield. Apparently, she and the Grand Duke were most concerned as to the legality of their marriage (and therefore the legitimacy of their heirs) should her use of this belt ever become public knowledge. Strict laws have been passed in the city since then to clarify this issue. You see Maire lived a long time and had a great many children and grandchildren. Her medical condition only became apparent upon her death when the mortician removed the girdle, by which time her descendants had married into every major noble family in the city. Obviously, none of them wanted their bloodlines proclaimed invalid, so as a result Baldur's Gate has the most progressive marriage laws of any human city."

"That's a fascinating history lesson. What's your point?" drawled Safana.

"My point is that while in our enlightened modern world it would not be a problem, in Maire's day it was essential that she keep her condition a secret," said Eldoth. "So she enlisted the help of the most powerful magicians money could hire to ensure that simple 'Remove Curse' spells could not be used to expose her."

"What exactly are you saying?" asked Freya, a mischievous grin spreading over her pretty face. Meanwhile the colour was draining from Coran's.

"I am saying that there are actually only two possible ways to remove the girdle," said Eldoth. "The first is if you die. The second is by means of a special key."

Freya had never seen Coran move so fast. In seconds both his and Safana's daggers were drawn and digging into Eldoth's throat. He laughed cruelly.

"I don't have the key on me," he smirked, "So don't be getting any ideas."

"Where is it?" snarled Coran.

"Skie is looking after it for me," he said pleasantly. "It is hidden in a secret safe in the Ducal Palace. The same palace which you are going to rob for me. Unless you plan on remaining a woman for the rest of your life."

"I guess this means you work for us now," trilled Skie happily, popping up in the doorway. She balanced gingerly on her toes like a dancer, and peered into the room at Coran. Beautiful, criminal and as manipulative as hell. Freya's heart melted. How could it not?


	4. Lyre Lyre

"So," said Freya, crossing her boots over the table and tilting her chair back on two legs. "Let's talk business. What exactly is it you want?"

"What do you mean?" asked Skie. She adjusted her bangles, which were solid gold set with amethyst if Freya was any judge. Someone of her rank would probably consider this nothing more than costume jewellery but it was still far too expensive to be wearing openly in this part of the city. The thief was looking extremely pleased with herself and far too excited to be drinking in this seedy little inn with a bona fide low life. It was adorable.

Upstairs Coran and Safana were still alternating between hollering at and pleading with Eldoth. It had been Freya's suggestion to leave them to it and get a drink. The upper-class lady had giggled rebelliously and followed her down to the bar, intentionally selecting the least expensive ale on the menu. The werewolf had ordered first and gone in the opposite direction, ordering a glass of ruby wine in a doomed attempt to appear less unsophisticated to her new friend.

"You're a thief yourself, you have unlimited, unsupervised access to the Ducal Palace and the worst that will happen if you get caught stealing from them is that the Duke will ground you for a few weeks," said Freya, raising an eyebrow. The worst that could happen to her and Coran would be public execution, but she had been living under the threat of death for a long time and had gotten used to it. "Whatever you're after in there, it must be something special or you could just go and get it yourself."

"It is! There's this old lyre," said Skie in a low whisper.

"That would be Eldoth?" hazarded Freya, taking a large gulp of the sour wine and pulling a face.

"No, no silly a lyre not a liar," giggled Skie. She leaned forward and placed her hand on Freya's, making her pulse rise a little. "It's a type of harp. See when Grand-Duchess Maire died her husband did this whole mourning thing. Never remarried, dressed in black and moped around for the rest of his life, you know the drill."

"Er… That sucks," said Freya.

"Not really," trilled Skie cheerfully, "He was super old and had a heart attack himself a few weeks later, so it all worked out alright in the end! Anyway, he couldn't bear to throw away any of her things, so he squirreled them away in the Silvershield estate. Her belt, her compositions, all of her instruments…"

"She was a bard like Eldoth?" asked Freya, raising an eyebrow. Apparently the Silvershields had a type. Unfortunately the werewolf was not musically inclined. Like many of her kind 'real music' was the sound of howling with a backing track of whatever ambient natural noises happened to be in the vicinity. The scraping and screeching of human instruments rather got on her nerves.

"No not like Eldoth, Maire was really talented," said Skie. Freya's eyes widened, and she grinned wickedly. The thief let go of her hand and clapped her delicate fingers over her mouth. "Oh no, that was a terrible thing to say! Please forget I said that! All I meant was that before Maire married the Duke she was very well known. They say she even played for Queen Ellesime's court once. I don't know whether that rumour is true, but she definitely used to perform for all the most fashionable families and one of them bought her the lyre as a wedding present."

"I assume that it is enchanted in some way?" asked Freya. This was far too much effort to go to for a triangle and some string.

"Oh yes," nodded Skie. "Maire's lyre remembers everything that was ever played on it and can replay the music on request."

"Ok, I think I get it," said Freya, winding a strand of golden hair idly around her finger. "Eldoth wants to regurgitate Maire's playing and cheat his way to becoming the best bard in Baldur's Gate. Am I right?"

"You're really smart," smiled Skie. Freya blushed a little. It was very rare for anybody to describe her as clever, and she was pleased despite herself. It made her push to the back of her mind how much she did not want to help Eldoth on his way to success. "Only not Baldur's Gate. Athkatla. We're going to run away together and use the lyre to start a new life. Isn't that romantic? The only problem is we can't get at it!"

"Why not?" asked Freya, taking another large swig of wine. Skie was about to correct her manners and point out that one _sips_ wine, but then it occurred to her that perhaps this was how commoners always drank. She decided to try it herself the next time she had to sit through one of her father's formal banquets, just to hack him off.

"We got caught trying to sneak the lyre out of the estates," she said, with an irritated sniff at the memory. "I managed to persuade Daddy not to hang Eldoth but he banned me from dating him and started having the Flaming Fist follow me everywhere. He took the lyre and locked it up in the Ducal Palace. We can't steal it ourselves because they already know we're after it. We'd never get close enough to try, but they won't look twice at a Flaming Fist officer."

"Come to think of it, it's getting late. If we're doing this before Corwin wakes up we should make a move," said Freya, glancing out the window at the still-falling snow. Sure enough an afternoon lying on the streets of the city had not been kind to this winter wonderland, which had taken on a suspicious yellow quality.

She tramped up the stairs to fetch her two thieves and Eldoth. Corwin was still sleeping soundly under her blanket but as darkness began to fall the bedroom was getting colder. Careful about where she was placing her hands, Freya lifted the guard easily from the cold hardwood floor and placed her onto the bed before following the others downstairs.

As always, opening the inn door to the city felt like being hit by a tidal wave of noise and smells. She loved it, especially with full moon approaching. It was so interesting. Three dogs had passed the inn that day, two females and a large male, possibly a Great Dane judging by the height of the water marks. The house three doors down and to the left were cooking a pheasant, probably poached. Somewhere in the vicinity was a cartful of onions but she was having trouble placing it.

Freya closed her eyes for a moment, standing in the doorway just listening and smelling with a dreamy smile on her face. Baldur's Gate was the best. Then a pair of hands shoved her roughly in the small of the back and she stumbled into the street.

"Move!" snapped Safana. "You are such a _pain_ in the city. Mind you you're a pain in the forests as well, stopping to sniff every other tree."

Freya ignored her and strode on ahead through the crowds toward the palace. She knew where it was, everybody did. It was huge and ostentatious and impossible to miss. To her mild annoyance, Skie was holding Eldoth's hand. The bard had huffed at this as it prevented him from walking with Safana, but Freya could still overhear his question and her companion's confirmation. Yes, she was a lycanthrope. Why could nobody ever just ask her that to her face?

"There's your mark," enthused Skie when they got within sight of the grand building. Despite the imposing architecture, it was not surrounded by its own grounds or gardens. Instead it opened directly onto the street. Clearly the Grand Dukes were conscious of the risk this posed, since Flaming Fist soldiers were swarming all over the roof and balconies like ants. "Me and Coran will go. You two and Eldoth will need to wait here."

"Nah it's freezing," said Freya, "We'll all go inside. Especially Eldoth. You say the key to Coran's girdle is in here too and we're not leaving without it. More's the point bard, _you're_ not leaving without it. You've already double-crossed us once."

"They won't let you in!" protested Skie.

"We'll see," said Freya with a dry laugh. They set off across the bustling street, two guards stood either side of the enormous doors. The left-hand doorman's eyes narrowed at them suspiciously, and though he stood up stiffer to attention when he noticed Skie, her presence did not appear to make him more inclined to trust them.

"Lieutenant Corwin," he nodded to Coran, who tried to keep his head down. The helmet and gender swap appeared to be working. "My lady Silvershield. Eldoth." He practically spat the name of the latter. The bard responded with a greasy smirk. "And you are?"

"Freya and Safana," the werewolf responded confidently, shaking the guard's hand so firmly that it made him wince. The magically enhanced charisma was doing its job. The guard looked up at the imposing six-footer with her great mane of golden hair and had to fight an instinctive urge to salute. "Officer Vai is having us shadow the Lieutenant for a day," said Freya. "We're signing up to join the Flaming Fist."

"I wouldn't if I were you, Sir. The garrison is infested with lice and the pay is crap," muttered the guard. Then he seemed to remember that Skie was with them. He corrected himself hastily, "The Dukes are doing their best of course! Things would be a lot worse if not for their fine leadership! Great men! Proud to work for them!"

Taking advantage of the flustered guard the party began to make their way past him and up the steps.

"Huh. I didn't know that Officer Vai was back in town already," remarked the right-hand guard. "We'll have to remind the Lieutenant to start collecting for her retirement present on her way out."

"Aint she a bit young to be retiring?" asked the left-hand guard.

"She opened a new shop last year, apparently business is booming," shrugged his partner. "She's quitting the force so that she can run it full time."

"That's amazing Freya, they just let you in! I wish I could do that," fluttered Skie, hurrying up the steps behind her. Freya turned a little pink and Safana rolled her eyes. She tugged Freya's arm so that she was walking between her and Coran again, leaving Skie to lead the way with Eldoth.

"Well on the one hand she does seem to like men," Safana said quietly, "But she also seems to have a bit of a thing for idiots, so you're in with a chance!"

"We could push Eldoth down the stairs when the job is done," suggested Freya in a low whisper. "Make it look like an accident?"

"Ah Freya, now you're just grasping at straws," grinned Coran, from under Corwin's helmet. The thief was not used to wearing one and he didn't like it. It was spoiling his hair and making his neck ache.

"No I'm not, that's Safana's job," said Freya with a wink at the thieves.

"It is far from a straw I'll have you know!" snorted Coran indignantly. They continued to climb up the portrait-lined staircase, leaving sleety footprints on the red velvet carpet. Every so often a passing servant would scowl at them, but these staff were too professional to say anything. It seemed to go on forever.

"Quite right sweetie," said Safana comfortingly. "It's at least a twig."

"More like a button since you put that belt on!" grinned Freya, starting to enjoy herself again.

"Oh gods no!" wailed Coran, clutching at his nether regions. Freya thought she could spy real tears in the elf's eyes.

"Now look what you've done, you've set him off again," Safana scolded, and grabbing both her partners by the upper arms steered them forcibly up the stairs. "I can't believe I'm having to risk my neck to get you out of this mess. Honestly, I only left you two alone in the bar for a few hours!"


	5. Puppy Love

"Halt! Where in the nine hells do you plebs think you're go- oh."

"Yup, I'm a lot bigger and stronger than you," said Freya. "I can confirm that your concerned expression is fully justified."

"You can't be in here, this is Duke Silvershield's private suite!" squeaked the intimidated guard. Freya gave her a look, and the spear shook in the unlucky girl's hand uncertainly, but she held her ground.

"We're with Skie," said Freya. "And Corwin here."

"Oh, yessir! Sorry Sir," said the guard, looking at Skie with relief that she would not be called upon to block the way of the enormous golden warrior. She sprang to attention and stepped smartly to one side. Freya strode in confidently, stepping onto an Evereskan wool rug. She had still not bothered to remove her boots.

It was a truly beautiful suite of rooms, albeit a little gaudy. Mahogany shelves trimmed with gold and packed with leather bound books lined the walls. The table was large enough to seat at least a dozen diners comfortably, though the silver cutlery had only been set for two. There were intricate little lace napkins, each hand-embroidered with the Silvershield family crest. Freya noticed several discarded ones on a trash can near the door. Apparently they were single use.

Mounted on the wall over the head of the table was an enormous oil painting in a golden frame. It was a slightly larger than life portrait of a woman playing a harp with long delicate fingers that reminded Freya of Skie's. Her dark hair was wound into an elegant braided bun and painted doe-like eyes gazed out of her soft pretty face. Presumably she was wearing the belt but it was hidden beneath a blue silk dress. Behind her stood a man in an old fashioned military uniform. He had a pinched face, a severe pointy beard and a demeanour that suggested that you probably would not want to be an officer serving under him, but he was looking at Maire adoringly.

"How did they meet?" asked Freya. She was privately rather afraid that she would never meet anyone and though their circumstances were dissimilar in many ways, she was still curious as to how Maire had achieved such a happy marriage.

"There was a Flaming Fist draft," replied Skie. "Some war over Dragonspear. In those days they only drafted men, but there was some debate as to whether Maire (or Marc as she was known then) ought to be included. He decided no, and Marc the bard vanished from the records. Maire began performing shortly after. They married a few years later."

"And there's our lyre," observed Freya, arching one eyebrow at the painted ebony instrument.

"So where is the real thing?" demanded Coran angrily, taking off his helmet. Freya cocked her head to one side. The beginnings of a double chin that she had always thought made him look a bit daft, were actually rather fetching on a woman. The red hair was pretty too.

Coran caught her gaze, grinned and raised an eyebrow suggestively. Fortunately, this reminded Freya rather sharply of who it was she was really looking at and her attention shifted back to the matter at hand.

"Daddy will need to see me first," said Skie. "You'll have to hide and sneak out when he's asleep. I'm afraid I won't be able to help you. He has… erm… taken to locking me in my room at night."

"Got anything to drink?" asked Freya hopefully.

Her wish was more than granted. Skie skipped over to an unassuming cabinet which opened to reveal what, to Freya, was little short of the Cave of Wonders. Not only was there a selection of fine vintage wines, but whiskies, spirits and a small sample crate of Nashkel Taverns: Hand-Crafted Bespoke House Ale.

"Fuck. Me." Freya grinned.

"Not you," smirked Eldoth, barring Safana and Coran's path to the drinks cabinet. "I need you two thieves alert and sober. The lyre is likely to be guarded by traps."

The bard grabbed himself a large bottle of whiskey and another of wine and sauntered off into Skie's bedroom, where presumably he meant to lurk until she turned in. Freya grimaced, though at least the presence of Skie's father in the next room would force them to be quiet this time. She and Skie followed him in. There were things she wanted to ask about this silly side-quest, and she suspected she would have an easier time having a coherent conversation in the absence of the angry thieves.

Safana, on the other hand, had decided that a silver lining to their current predicament would be to rob the Duke's apartment of anything that would not be immediately missed. She ignored anything on open display, opting instead to cut off the gems embroidered into his cuffs and prising off the silver buckles from the less-often worn shoes in the back of the wardrobe.

While she worked, Coran went through his drawers and desk searching for any secret compartments. He found several but they merely yielded paperwork so boring that Coran could not imagine why the Duke had bothered to hide it. A handful of irate letters from his accountant berating the Duke for outgoings far exceeding his income, an equally impatient letter from Baldur's Bank for non-payment of debts. A list of names, apparently of members of the Flaming Fist sympathetic to one of his political rivals… he replaced them all with a disappointed sigh.

"Oh this one is almost interesting," he said with mild amusement. "Fake identification for himself and Skie, an overnight bag, a gem pouch- I'll keep that- ha! He even got them wigs as disguises." He put one on. It was, of course, exquisite quality. Blonde and curly, from Jessa's Hair Emporium, quite indistinguishable from human hair. "Safana look: I'm Freya!"

"You're not slobbering enough to be Freya!" Safana snapped, shooting him a disgusted look and rolling her eyes. Coran sighed and replaced the wig. It briefly crossed his mind to take it with him in case Saffy was up for a bit of role play later, once they had got Little Coran back, but he feared making the suggestion might lead to Safana depriving him of his manhood in a more permanent way. When he looked up, Safana was stroking white satin bedsheets longingly.

"Could you imagine fucking on that?" she sighed, running her fingers over the fur trim enviously. "I bet just one of those pillows is worth more than I've ever owned."

"What's stopping us?" grinned the elf, coming up behind her and slipping his arms over her hips. "Stand and deliver! I'm a thief and I've come to steal your heart."

"You might find that difficult when Eldoth has stolen another part of your anatomy," said Safana grouchily.

Coran sighed. Safana was beautiful and more importantly fun. Hers was some of the best sex he had ever had, yet the woman had two major drawbacks as a girlfriend. One was her tendency to suck the party wallets dry without appearing to ever acquire anything useful. The other was that keeping her happy was a full-time job, and not an easy one. Oh, and there was the biting and scratching of course. That could be both fun and a drawback depending on his mood.

"Don't be like that Saffy, I miss Little Coran too, but my tongue still works, right?"

"If I wanted that I'd go to bed with Freya!" she snapped. Coran tugged his collar. There was a mental image he would never tire of.

"Well, I mean two women…" he tested the water tentatively. "Haven't you ever thought about… just for curiosity's sake I mean…?"

Safana shot him an evil look.

"Ok, no!" he said hastily. "Absolutely not. Me neither!"

In the next room Eldoth, who had by now ingested enough alcohol to raise his stunningly misplaced ego to fresh heights, was putting a similar proposition to Freya, though in less delicate terms. Skie clearly did not like the way her boyfriend so transparently ogled other women and was looking sulky.

"Here, have another drink," he was leering. Freya passed. The bard would be unconscious long before she was even drunk, and her beer goggles did not work on men (the gods knew this was not for lack of trying). She would not, however, put it past this creep to slip her something stronger. "And relax. The Duke won't be home for hours. What's to stop the three of us having a bit of fun, eh beautiful?"

"Yup, I'm beautiful. When the gods made me they were showing off," replied Freya in a bored voice. "You don't need to tell me that kid, I have seen a mirror before."

"Every bard needs a variety of muses," insisted Eldoth. "The pieces you two would inspire would go down in history as the greatest compositions ever written."

Freya was very used to this sort of nonsense, although this had the unusual added yuck-factor of his girlfriend sitting right there. In the early days of their friendship Coran himself had bombarded her with suggestions several times a day. So she ignored him, right up until the point where he tried to put his hand on her thigh. She caught it deftly in an iron grip and squeezed.

"Naughty, naughty," warned Eldoth, pulling himself free. He would never have been able to wriggle loose had the werewolf not chosen to let him go, but he was too drunk and too arrogant to register this. "I'll have less of that attitude off of you missy if you ever want Little Coran-"

The bard broke off choking. Freya had grabbed him by his collar, twisted it round and lifted his feet from the ground so that his face was level with her own. In this room were a number of small portraits of Skie's ancestors. Generations of disapproving Silvershield's glared down at the unsuitable pair of ruffians that Skie had admitted into her bedroom.

"No! Stop it!" Skie wailed. "Eldoth!"

"I don't ' _want little Coran,_ ' bard," the werewolf snarled, "As it happens, I think his current state is a vast improvement. Now I am prepared to go along with this burglary plan of yours to help out a mate; but only to a point. Ultimately this is Coran's and Safana's problem, not mine. You have nothing on me and if you ever attempt to paw me again, I will rip out your liver and eat it for lunch. Are we clear?"

"Crazy whore!" spluttered Eldoth, squirming in her grasp.

"That's it," Freya snarled, "I'm out." She tightened her grip. Eldoth's eyes bulged and his face started to turn purple.

"Let him go, please!" sobbed Skie. Panic was written over her face and her cheeks were damp with frightened tears. Freya dropped the bard guiltily. She hadn't meant to go that far but it was too close to full moon for this kind of provocation, and she had been neglecting her meditations. Skie scowled at her furiously through her tears. Then without any warning whatsoever, she smacked Freya in the face. Freya opened her mouth furiously to retort and the thief slapped her again, harder. "Eldoth, get out of here for Waukeen's sake!" she said. The bard scrambled to his feet wheezing and stepped out of the room, with a last obnoxious look at Freya.

Skie shut the door, folded her eyes and stared at Freya angrily, arms folded and unblinking. Without her human self's permission, the wolf Freya hung her head and whined. The young aristocrat reached forward and to the werewolf's mixed horror and humiliation, scratched her behind the ears.

"This is so degrading," she moaned.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Oh gods no."

At new moon Freya would never have let this fly, but as it was she closed her eyes and allowed herself to be canine for a minute. Her blonde head arched into Skie's fingers. No human could ever understand this feeling. It was affectionate, comfortable and indescribably satisfying. Finally the thief withdrew and took a step back and she sighed.

"I'm sorry Skie but there is no way I'm taking that crap off of Eldoth, not even for you," Freya murmured.

"I wouldn't ask you to," Skie crooned, running her hand all the way down Freya's back and making her shiver. "But you'll help us steal this lute won't you? Please? For me?"

Freya groaned resignedly. Minutes later, the werewolf stomped into Duke Silvershield's room to rejoin her party without bothering to look at Eldoth.

"She's cooperating! How did you manage that?" the bard gaped, impressed despite himself.

"My Great Auntie Skael used to breed show dogs," said Skie lightly. "She taught me a few tricks. Auntie always said the main thing is to make sure they know who the alpha is."

"Can you show me?" asked Eldoth eagerly. "I wouldn't mind going all-alpha on her! Er… to command her to steal the lyre so you and I can run away together and live happily ever after, of course."

"I don't think it would work so well coming from you," Skie replied carefully. "It's probably best if you let me handle Freya."

Eldoth's lips thinned and he shot Skie a suspicious sideways look.

"Just as long as she doesn't start humping your leg," muttered the bard darkly. "Or I might have to neuter her, just like I did the elf!"

The sky grew dark outside, but despite there being no obvious fire, this room was being heated from an unknown source. A large grandfather clock chimed the hour and Skie jumped.

"Daddy will be home soon!" she whispered. Eldoth slunk away back to Skie's bedroom. Safana hid in the grandfather clock. Freya, who was rather large and difficult to conceal, ducked behind a curtain and hoped for the best. Time passes incredibly slowly with nothing to do, and the party imagined that they were hunkering in their uncomfortable hiding places for hours, when in truth it was more like fifteen minutes.

At length the door opened and Skie's father entered the apartment. It occurred to Freya at this point that if she were to just step out and tell him how they were being blackmailed, it was more likely than not that he would force Eldoth to give them the key to unlock Coran's girdle and then execute the little worm. An appealing notion. Of course, given that they had also tricked their way into his apartment and assaulted an officer of the Flaming Fist, there was also a very real risk that he would hang them right next to him. Without knowing the man it was impossible for Freya to judge, so she remained silent. Besides Skie would never forgive her if she were to cause Eldoth's death.

"Daddy!" cried Skie, bouncing forward and hugging him. He hugged her back with one affectionate arm. The other was carrying a large stack of parchments bound together with string. His outer robes were freezing, and judging by the white flakes dotting his cloak the snow had started again. "How was your day?"

"I'm more interested in hearing about yours," he replied. Coran was standing silently, helmet on and head down. Skie coughed at him pointedly.

"She was great, just peachy," said Coran. "Good as gold."

" _Excuse me,_ officer?" cried the Duke, outraged.

"Lieutenant Corwin, this is my father Duke Silvershield," said Skie, with a bite to her voice. "Your boss."

"Sir, apologies Sir!" cried Coran, saluting, stamping to attention and altogether going too far the other way. "Sir, Skie was a model soldier all day, Sir!"

Freya winced and slowly reached for her twin bastard swords in preparation to fight their way out. The Duke, however, seemed to be somewhat accustomed to overenthusiastic new recruits. He simply looked down his pointed nose at her and said;

"Dismissed soldier. Have Officer Vai brief you on etiquette before your next shift."

Ignoring Coran, who stumbled out relieved, he turned back to Skie who was smiling at him with twinkly mischievous eyes.

"So how was your day Daddy?"

"Terrible," he groaned, mopping his brow with one of the expensive napkins and throwing it straight into the trash. "There's not enough gold in the treasury to meet payroll. I'm going to have to put off paying the Flaming Fist another week."

"Why does it always have to be the soldiers and not the useless pen pushers in city hall?" asked Skie. The Duke gave her a look. "Corwin was grumbling about it before."

"Was she indeed?" muttered the Duke darkly. "Well for the very practical reason my dear that those 'useless pen pushers' include the tax collectors and the people who actually distribute the money so without them…"

The dinner conversation was long and dull and Freya found herself wishing that she had brought one of those bottles with her behind the curtain. Luckily the Duke's unpleasant day had left him rather tired. Soon the cutlery was being gathered away by a procession of servants and he was ushering his daughter to her room. He locked it behind her with a large steel key, blissfully unaware that he was locking a drunken Eldoth in with her.

Then he took a candle and retired to his own room. Irritatingly he did not shut the door. Instead he took a small silver knife, sliced the string from his paperwork and set about signing and writing documents with a scratchy pen. Freya risked a look out from behind her curtain to see Safana creeping carefully out of the grandfather clock. They made it to the exit, tiptoeing across the floor but then they ran into a problem. The door to the corridor was closed. It was a grand, heavy oaken affair with no way to move it that was not going to be loud.

"You go," whispered Freya. "Take my swords." Safana hesitated. "I'll talk my way out of it. Charisma, remember? Go!"

Safana opened the door with a loud creak and scampered into the hallway where Coran was waiting for her. What they were going to say to the door guard, Freya did not know, but that was their problem. Her job was to handle the Duke. She fished a handful of napkins from the trashcan and began boldly polishing the table.

"Who's there?" the Duke demanded. He emerged from his room, a longsword in his hand. It was ornamental and comically showy but still, Freya noticed, extremely sharp.

"Oh just me milord," smiled Freya, curtseying clumsily. The Duke with his pinched face and pointed features, bore a remarkable resemblance to his ancestor whose painting hung on the wall. He had Maire's great doe-like eyes though. She resumed scrubbing the table. The trick to invisibility when you were as conspicuous as she was, she had learnt from experience, was to hide in plain sight. Behave confidently like you were supposed to be there and nine times out of ten people would take you at face value.

"I don't recognise you," he growled suspiciously.

"Oh, they only just took me on Sir," Freya trilled meekly. "And proper grateful I was too, honest work ain't easy to come by. Been travelling for days I have," she added, tugging at her leather armour, "All the way from Nashkel. Lost me job at the inn because of all that business with the mines. Did you hear about that up here milord? Cost us most of our customers it did."

The Duke nodded and relaxed a little. It rang true. Her accent was from the region and he was indeed aware that there had been trouble in the mines.

"Where's your uniform?"

"Pardon milord but they couldn't find one to fit me," replied Freya, feigning embarrassment. This also rang true. At six-foot-three the beautiful blonde woman was huge. "They're having one made special, that's why they put me on night-shift. I guess they wasn't expecting you to be up so late so they thought you wouldn't see me."

The Duke sighed and nodded again. Then he returned to his paperwork. He paused at the doorway to his bedroom.

"You're wasted as a maid you know," said the Duke suddenly. Freya grimaced. Perhaps she would have to fight her way out after all.

"With the greatest of respect my lord," she said, "If I were willing to accept that sort of work I could have stayed in Nashkel. There's a lot of Flaming Fist down there requiring services at present."

To her astonishment the Duke laughed, a thin reedy laugh.

"I was actually about to suggest that you serve the Flaming Fist rather than service them," he said. "You are a strapping great lass and I find your attitude toward illegal employment quite commendable."

"I don't know nothing about fighting," she replied defensively.

"You don't know much about polishing timber either judging by the scratches you're leaving on my table," he replied. "Both can be taught but fighting pays better. Report to the Flaming Fist headquarters near the docks if you change your mind. We're always looking for new talent."

Freya curtseyed in reply and the Duke, satisfied that she was not an assassin, returned to his mountain of paperwork. So as not to appear suspicious, Freya finished polishing the table before shuffling out discretely, closing the door behind her.

Coran and Safana were waiting for them in the corridor. Coran was squeezing his own boobs experimentally. Whether this was out of discomfort or he was enjoying himself, Freya could not discern.

"Where's the guard?" she asked frowning.

"I'm a lieutenant, remember?" replied Coran. "I ordered her to go away so she did."

"What took you?" complained Safana. "Did you stop to sniff the table legs or did the Duke have a pair of slippers that needed chewing?"

Freya explained the holdup briefly. She had felt oddly proud that the Duke recommended her for the Flaming Fist and almost regretful that she had to decline. The thieves, however, were both horrified.

"Honestly!" Safana spat in disgust. "What is the point of being obscenely rich if you're just going to use it to stay up all night doing paperwork. I ought to have been born wealthy! Money is wasted on these people!"


	6. Blood and Fire

"This is the one? You're sure?" demanded Safana.

"I'm sure that's what Skie and Eldoth told me," replied Freya with a shrug.

"Good enough for me!" Coran grinned and cracked his fingers. Freya looked doubtful. Safana was better with traps than the elf, lockpicking was more his forte. Yet his reckless nature led him to rush into the most dangerous tasks while Safana's self-preserving nature made her inclined to let him.

He fiddled around with the painting for some time, finding the hinges and the hidden latch concealed in the elaborate carved frame. Freya would have thought that the lyre would be concealed behind one of the paintings of Maire. There were many of them around, her late husband seemed to have commissioned a lot of portraits. Yet unlike his ancestor, the current Duke was a pragmatist and not a romantic. He had hidden the lyre in a safe behind a tedious still-life featuring a stuffed pheasant and an unassuming bowl of fruit.

There was a tiny click. A look of panic flashed over Coran's face. Freya knew that expression from painful experience. It meant 'duck!'

The werewolf flattened herself on the ground, pinning Safana under her. A scorching fireball roared over the pair of them. Though they were untouched by the flames themselves, the heat was unbearable. It roasted Freya's back and she let out an involuntary howl of agony. Holding herself up for Safana's benefit was impossible. Her body instinctively flattened itself away from the fire and she was only dimly aware that she was crushing the other thief. Still, even Safana would admit that this was preferable to the alternative, since Freya was shielding her from the worst of the heat.

The trap only took a few seconds to burn itself out, but by then Freya's skin was red raw and she whimpered in pain. It had ruined her leathers, they were warping and wrinkling at the back. Now, ideally, would be the time to plunge into some cold water to avoid the worst of the blisters but there was none handy and it was not as if she could ask the kitchen staff for help.

"Get off me you great mutt!" snapped Safana, shoving the werewolf roughly onto her back. As her scorched skin hit the floor, Freya yelped again but Safana did not care.

"Coran! Coran are you alright?" Safana cried.

"I'm fine," Coran reassured her soothingly. The elf had sidestepped the trap and was not even singed.

"I'm not?" volunteered Freya from the floor. Safana ignored her. She and Coran were checking each other for injuries with genuine concern, though in Coran's case also quite a lot of groping.

Freya rolled onto her front with difficulty and heaved herself up on her hands and knees. She tried to ignore the nagging fear that she would never meet anyone who cared for her that way. That she would be alone for the rest of her life. That even Selune would reject her in the end, and send her packing to one of the nine hells. All the little fears that the monks had drilled into her back in Candlekeep. The ones she brushed off with bravado, but that still kept her up at night.

" _Those monks were from Amn,"_ she told herself. _"This is Baldur's Gate, things are different here. Thanks to Maire."_

She glanced up guiltily at one of the portraits of Maire Silvershield, whose magical lyre she was attempting to steal so that Eldoth could claim credit for her talent. On the other hand, she was helping one of Maire's descendants. If you could call facilitating Skie eloping with Eldoth 'helping.' Freya imagined that Maire's doe-like painted eyes were looking upon her with disappointment.

" _I'm helping someone who is stuck in the wrong body, just like you were,"_ Freya told the long-dead Duchess defiantly in her head. _"Do I get points for that at least? Huh?"_

With the trap's deadly potency spent, there was nothing to stop the thieves from picking the lock to the safe. Coran was soon eagerly tugging the lyre out of a hole in the wall behind the painting. Even this tone-deaf trio could tell that it was a superior quality instrument carved from smooth ebony wood. The elf gripped it triumphantly, confident in the resumption of his preferred gender soon.

"Beautiful," breathed Safana. "How much do you think it's worth?"

"Instruments all belong in the garbage if you ask me," muttered Freya prodding her burned back resentfully. She did not much like human music and she was starting to grow an aversion to the bards that made it.

"A compliment coming from you. You love sniffing garbage," remarked Safana. She seemed more inclined to speak to the pair of them now that their mistake with the girdle was about to be rectified. "You know I never really understood that. You have a stronger sense of smell than we do. Trash should smell worse to you than me, so why stick your nose in it?"

"I used to wonder why humans hate trash smell too," admitted Freya. "It's so _interesting._ I think it is because you can't pick the individual scents apart. Like different colour paints look great together in a portrait. But if you blend them all together they become a sludgy grey. A good trash can, with the right combination of smells is like… it's like…" She looked at the lyre. "Well it's like how I imagine humans hear music. All the different notes blending into a complex whole..."

"Are you comparing garbage to a symphony?" sneered Safana, who was not a dog-person.

"That's not entirely unfair," beamed Coran, clutching the lyre contentedly. "Having heard Eldoth play, I'd have to compare his music to trash too."

He gave the lyre a celebratory strum.

This turned out to be a huge mistake. The enchanted lyre immediately began to play, a beautiful soulful melody. Freya was filled with a mixture of melancholy and panic. Mostly panic because the notes were rather carrying, and she could hear boots thundering up the corridor. Freya drew her swords. She liked the Flaming Fist and was reluctant to fight them, but at the same time she did not intend to hang in the market place for burglary.

A Flaming Fist officer, sword drawn, turned the corner. When she saw who the thief was she froze in horror. Freya lowered her swords awkwardly. Of all the guards to round that corner, it had to be her brief, drunken affair from Beregost, Officer Vai.

"Hey… Jessa!" she began uncomfortably. "Long time no see. So erm… How's the shop? Trading well?"

"The shop is fine," snapped Officer Vai. She had a hand on her hip and was looking furious, but Freya was relieved to see the other woman sheath her sword. "Freya, what the hell?"

"Um… is that a 'what the hell' did you leave at two in the morning without waking you up for? Or a 'what the hell' are you doing stealing a harp from the Ducal Palace?" mumbled the werewolf abjectly.

"The stealing! Obviously, the stealing!" cried Vai, though she kept her voice low. "I already know why you snuck away without saying anything. It's because you are a coward and a massive arsehole!"

"That's fair," muttered Freya. "I'm sorry."

The harp was still playing its sad tune. Officer Vai reached out a hand for it. Coran hesitated, reluctant to let it go, but not really having any choice. They couldn't get it out of the palace while it was making that noise and even if they could find a way to silence it, he doubted Freya would let them harm Officer Vai. He handed back his key to masculinity with a deflated sigh.

"I don't want to see you executed, _arsehole,"_ said Officer Vai in a firm tone, "But you need to leave the lyre and get out. Now."

"Alright, we'll get out of the palace," agreed Freya, as Vai replaced the lyre in its hiding place. The soldier let out a dry laugh.

"No, I meant you need to get out of Baldur's Gate altogether," replied Jessa, shaking her head. "And get your shit together Freya. I don't want to find your pretty hair in the next batch of bandit scalps I buy."

She stroked Freya's hair, hefting a golden lock in her hand fondly. Minutes later they were back in their Inn, gathering their possessions while Officer Vai waited by the door to 'escort' them out of the city.  Fortunately, when Jessa had asked about how they had obtained a Flaming Fist uniform, she had chosen to blame  Corwin for drinking on duty. Freya flinched guiltily at the thought of the unconscious officer, hoping that she would not get into too much hot water on their account.

As it happened, Freya had already been planning to leave the city and head South. Imoen was awaiting her at the Friendly Arm Inn. Yet despite looking forward to reuniting with her friend from Candlekeep, their journey South was a subdued one. Coran was struggling to see how he would ever free himself from the cursed girdle and become a man again. Safana was livid with the pair of them for falling for Eldoth's tricks in the first place.

Their progress was slowed by Coran, who seemed to have mysteriously become quite ill. He kept doubling over with an agonized expression on his elfin face. He drank half their stock of antidote potions in case he had been poisoned but they offered no relief. They pitched their tents early and after a subdued meal he retreated to his own, alone. Safana no longer wished to share with him. Freya shuffled around in her own bedroll trying to get warm, when the flap lifted and Coran slunk in looking shifty.

"Don't be an arse," muttered Freya sleepily. "You're still you underneath and Safana would slaughter us."

"I'm not here to try it on," he whispered anxiously crouching down. "I need to borrow some rags."

"Rags?" frowned Freya blankly, sitting up. Her long yellow mane fell tangled around her drowsy face. The blanket slipped, but Coran had long known that Freya slept nude and had seen her topless before. Magnificent though the sight was, he had more pressing concerns.

What he was not expecting was for Freya to catch his eye, blush scarlet and pull the covers up again. Never would she have bothered to do that when he was a man. She had many flaws but modesty was decidedly not among them. Freya took it as a given that men would lust after her, because she certainly would if she were to meet herself. She treated their gaze with total indifference. But with attractive women she was different, turning from abrasive and cocky to cripplingly shy in the blink of an eye.

"Rags," said Coran flinching. "You know _rags._ For blood."

"Oh!" said Freya, thinking that she had cottoned on. "No, sorry mate. Can't help you. I don't carry a sword cleaning rag- the blood scent would drive me nuts. Just wipe it off on the grass or your enemies' clothes. That's what I always do. How come you smell of blood anyway? What did you kill, a bear? A kobold?"

"No! Not for my sword for… for my… Please Freya," he begged desperately, "I really don't want to have to ask Safana!"

"Ask Safana for what?" asked Freya.

"Ask me for what?" demanded Safana. She burst into the tent, dagger drawn and glaring at the pair of them with deep suspicion. Freya was very glad indeed that she had pulled up the bedsheets.

"I don't know he wants some rags or something," explained Freya hastily, eyeing Safana's blade. "Don't blame me, I didn't invite him in here!"

Coran turned beetroot red, and to Freya's astonishment Safana doubled up with laughter. The elf was glaring at the werewolf as though she had betrayed him horribly. She was starting to get annoyed. It was late, she was tired and still aching from the fireball trap. Safana dropped to her knees, holding her sides with glee. Tears of mirth were leaking from her eyes before the bemused wolf finally snapped.

"What in the nine hells is going on?" she snarled.

"Coran is having his time of month, you dumb mutt," Safana laughed.

At first Freya was still confused. She cocked her head to one side and frowned at Coran. Full moon was close but not here yet, and she would have known if her friend were infected with lycanthropy. Besides what good would rags be for his time of month? Something to gnaw on perhaps? Panicked thoughts swirled through her tired mind, wondering if there was a way she could have brushed him with her teeth or transferred some of her contaminated blood to him through battle wounds. Then, at last, the penny dropped.

"Fuck me," Freya grinned broadly. "So, is that how you people deal with that? You shove rags down your pants to mop up the blood? I've always wondered but it seemed kind of rude to ask."

"You're kidding me?" drawled Safana. "Are you saying werewolves don't menstruate…?"

"Of course not!" laughed Freya, as though the notion were utterly ridiculous. Safana rolled up her sleeve and extended her forearm to the werewolf's mouth.

"Bite me please," she joked. Freya leaned forward, pushing up the top of her cleavage for effect and winking at her.

"Any time, any place," was her answer. Safana flushed and looked annoyed.

Outside a wood pigeon started cooing loudly. She glared through the canvass in the direction of the noise. It was very close and doubtless the blasted thing would be at it for the next hour or so. A mean thought crossed her mind. Coran and their canine friend had little notion of what these products were supposed to look like. She could trick him into using anything. Leaves, briars, plucked pigeon feathers…

"But in all seriousness, you must know what a period is?" the thief pressed.

"Yeah of course. I mean the monks told me what a period was," Freya explained. "They had to. I could smell them on other people, but they never went into much detail. I didn't think of it right away when Coran started on about 'rags'. It isn't something I give much thought to, to tell you the truth."

Safana stopped laughing and scowled. She did not much like the idea of Freya being able to smell when her time of month was. Apparently, Coran was thinking along the same lines because he unwisely chose to say;

"Wait, you could sniff when Saffy was in danger mode? Why did you never warn me?"

" _Right. Pigeon feathers it is then,"_ Safana thought spitefully.

"You're the one in 'danger mode' now," Freya observed happily, and Safana started to laugh at him again. "No, sorry Safana, I don't think biting you is the answer. Werewolves don't have periods but we _do_ go into heat about twice a year and-"

"Too much information!" declared Safana.

"I think my brain just imploded," said Coran weakly, imagining Freya in heat.

"The way you act I'd have thought you were _always_ in heat," Safana observed dryly.

"Can we get back to my problem please?" Coran coughed.

"Of course. I'll take care of you," said Safana in a dangerously sweet voice, slipping one arm around him. "Goodnight Freya."

"See you in the morning," yawned Freya. "If it makes you feel any better Corana, the Flaming Fist know all about Eldoth's little scam now. Ten gold pieces say Silvershield has his men beat the crap out of the little git!"


	7. Werewolf Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story is not abandoned. I got a proper block on this chapter, hence it's shortness. I was hoping if I waited a better linker would come to me but, alas, it didn't and I want to round up the rest of this fic.

The sun beamed down fiercely over the battlements of the Friendly Arm Inn, where the party had arranged to rendezvous with Freya's friend from Candlekeep. As they passed the portcullis to meet this Imoen, a guard pulled them aside and warned the adventurers that fighting in the keep was strictly forbidden.

"That means no bursting into my room dagger-drawn, Safana," grinned Freya. The sunlight glinted off her teeth in a dazzling smile. She looked around to find the guard gazing at her with the sort of gormless dreamy expression that her elevated charisma often brought out in people. Despite having never set eyes on her before, all his instincts were telling him that the tall, golden stranger was in charge of everything. "At ease soldier," she said.

Freya raised her nose and sniffed around. With the aroma of hay, cowdung and ash, this place smelled homely, similar to Candlekeep. Except that there was a great deal more alcohol sloshing around and the occasional waft of perfume from the more well-to-do visitors. Safana sidled up to her to apologise for her earlier outburst.

"I am sorry about that," said Safana, only slightly abashed.

"Nah, no worries," Freya brushed it off. "It's not like you'd be the first of Coran's lovers to try and kill me."

"Oh?" Safana perked up curiously. "Pray tell?"

Coran darted hastily in front of the two women, waving his hands repressively and blocking their path across the courtyard. Unheard of for the elf, he was actually looking shamefaced under his green mask. This only peaked the other thief's interest more.

"Safana does not need to hear that story!" Coran cut in hastily, shaking his head. The auburn hair on the side he wore long danced and twitched, as awkward as its owner.

"Why not? It was hilarious!" cried Freya.

"A sexual conquest of which Coran is not proud?" gasped Safana in mock-shock. "This I must hear!"

She stood on tiptoe to place her folded hands and chin on the werewolf's broad shoulder, fluttering her eyelashes wickedly at the elf. Coran groaned. Well, at least Freya had got onto this subject _before_ they met their new companion and not after.

"Ok. So, you know a while before we met you Coran and I visited this island of werewolves, right?" Freya began.

"Yes, yes. You learned lots about your hairy kinsfolk. It was very formative for you," Safana drawled in a bored voice.

"There was a cultural misunderstanding," said Coran repressively, as though that ended the conversation. Freya smirked and nodded at this accurate, but understated, description of the situation.

"Let me guess," Safana sneered at him. "Their way of saying 'hello' is to sniff each others' butts and Coran took it as an invitation? Or did he bang the Alpha female?"

"Oh worse, so much worse," grinned Freya with relish.

"He banged the Alpha _male?_ "

"No! And I take exception to the implication that that would have been worse," Freya retorted, silencing the thief. "See, as well as werewolves, the island is also home to wolfweres. They’re kinda like reverse-werewolves. So full moon comes around and we all turn into wolves, but all the wolves on the island turn into humans, right? Now picture this, Coran comes face to face with this pretty naked woman in full-heat, throwing herself at him for no apparent reason. I'm on all fours with the rest of the pack chasing boar around the island, _I_ can't warn him. So, guess what this dumbass did?"

"Fucked the werewolf I expect," shrugged Safana. "A good time had by all. So what?"

"That's what I thought at the time," muttered Coran, rubbing an old scratch-scar ruefully.

Freya goggled at them, her grey eyes as wide as a puppy's.

" _So what?_ " she echoed in disbelief. "Did you not hear what I just said? It was a _wolfwere_ , not a _werewolf_!"

"But she was in human form at the time," frowned Safana, still failing to see the problem.

"Firstly, I didn't know that she was a wolfwere…" snapped Coran defensively.

"Coran, my friend, I consider myself unselective bordering on desperate," grinned Freya, clapping her companion on the shoulder with her broad palm. "But even _I_ would ask questions if a naked woman I had never met before in my life showed up out of nowhere and propositioned me. Coran didn't even bother to ask her name!"

"…and secondly I didn't know that it was such a bloody taboo for you people!" he finished angrily.

"Why is it taboo?" asked Safana.

Freya shook her head. From the perspective of a werewolf the reasons for not mating with wolfweres were too blindingly obvious to require any explanation.

"How can I put this?" sighed Freya, scratching her head. "What would you guys think if I transformed, trotted off into the woods and shagged an _actual_ wolf?"

"Yuk!" Safana summed it up succinctly.

"But we'd both be in the same form," pointed out Freya. "So, by your logic, no problem."

"I think I'm starting to see the problem," drawled Safana.

"The werewolf pack definitely saw a problem!" laughed Freya emphatically. "We get back from our hunt the next morning, and there's Coran, fast asleep being spooned by a wolf. I laughed so hard I reckon I cracked a rib! He was damn lucky that the pack Alpha had taken a shine to me, he stopped them tearing Coran to shreds right there and then. But we still had to get off that island _fast!_ "

"What happened to the wolfwere?" asked Safana.

"We took her back to the mainland with us," mumbled Coran, shamefacedly.

"Took ' _it'_ with us," corrected Freya. "They'd have killed it otherwise, which seemed a bit unfair because it wasn't like it knows the difference between right and wrong. As soon as we were off the island though, the ungrateful bloody creature turned on me! Didn't like another female hanging around 'her' mate. I had to knock Lanfear out, then we released it into the wild and ran like hell before it woke up again. So, yeah. Upshot is, I've been attacked by Coran's lovers before. And don't get me started on Brielbara…"

"Oh, this one I know about," smirked Safana. "She had his baby."

"I still reckon she did that on purpose y'know," mused Freya.

"Oh, always the woman's fault!" snapped Safana. "It takes two to tango you know!"

Fortunately for Freya, she was saved from having to answer this by the appearance of Imoen. The pink-haired girl was so delighted to see her Bhaalspawn that she practically tackled her in the midriff. On her travels she too had picked up new friends and to her alarm, Freya found herself engulfed in a group hug with Imoen, a giant berserker whom she had never met and, for some reason, a hamster.

At once the pair of them began to implore Freya to come South with them to rescue the man's friend, Dynaheir, from a gnoll keep. Her other thieves objected. They felt strongly that the party should focus on freeing Coran from the girdle. Yet Safana was soon swayed by the prospect of a keep full of treasure and even Coran did not need too much persuading of the merits of rescuing a beautiful damsel in distress.

The Gnoll Keep proved both profitable and of little challenge, and to her delight Freya obtained another Tome of Charisma. It raised her capacity to influence people from merely obscenely high to a level never seen in Faerun before outside of the court of Queen Ellesime.

Their new friends proved useful in other ways too. Freya had always had to chain herself up in seclusion at full moon. Safana would not go near her leader in canine form with a ten-foot spear for fear of earning a face full of slobber and Coran had to keep his distance or risk being torn limb from limb. Minsc, on the other hand, was burdened by neither fear nor common sense. He was strong enough to extricate himself from the creature's jaws if needs be and his hamster, Boo, turned out to be a calming influence on the werewolf. It transpired that in canine form she had strong parental instincts and treated the hamster as her own puppy.

Of course Minsc and Boo could not shield her from all the hazards of a werewolf transformation, and the morning after she returned to camp in a ragged towel with sore red eyes and a fish-like pout.

"What's the matter with you?" snapped Safana.

"Ayeayte abeey," Freya mumbled through her puffy swollen lips.

"I beg thine pardon?" Dynaheir said. "Art thou trying to sound an incantation?"

"Did you eat another bee?" asked Imoen sympathetically. Freya nodded her great golden head forlornly and plucked a stinger out of her gums with the other hand. Coran suppressed a smile. As she limped back to her tent to find her clothes he whispered to Safana; "This happens a lot at full moon. The wolf chomps down on passing bees and they sting the inside of her mouth. She always looks so sad and confused after… but she never learns."

"Dumb mutt," sighed Safana.

Back in Baldur's Gate, Skie and Eldoth were bemoaning their lost opportunity and discussing the werewolf and her blighted party. At the very least, Skie insisted, they ought to try to obtain the girdle before Duke Silvershield noticed its absence. It was a valuable magical artefact and a family heirloom after all.

"We could just ask for it back," Skie suggested. "I didn't get the impression that Coran exactly wanted it."

"Then what's to stop her trying to throttle me again?" argued Eldoth. "You can't reason with monsters! Look what she did to the Iron Throne. She's lucky she was thrown out of the city before they found Captain Scar's corpse, or the Flaming Fist would have hanged her. She's a wanted murderer!"

"I think she's sweet," Skie said lightly.

"Could the gods have cursed me with a stupider woman?" sighed Eldoth, exasperated. "Read my lips Skie; you two are not friends! You are blackmailing her best friend. She wants to eat your boyfriend. That makes you enemies!"

"Can't you two just try to get along?" Skie pouted.

"Can't you just get yourself a real dog?" Eldoth sneered. "It'd smell better."

He fingered his dark, oily moustache, thinking. After a while a cunning gleam lit up in his eye. He leaned forward and gave Skie a moist, tonguey kiss.

"Why don't you run along and get your nails fixed dearest," he smarmed greasily. "And don't you worry your pretty vacuous little head. I'll take care of everything."


End file.
